Eidolon
by Promelius
Summary: Edward Heiderich, the Slytherin, the snarky, bookish transfer student, seems to drift through the school with a strange disconnect to the rest of the world. But when the Triwizard Tournament begins, and Harry's name is drawn, Dumbledore advises the Golden Trio to go to him. "Do you think he put my name in?" "No. I do know, however, that he can protect you from whoever did." [AU]
1. Iambic Pentameter

_Neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist belong to me in any way, shape, or form._

* * *

 **Iambic Pentameter** (eye-AM-bik pen-TAM-i-ter)

* * *

Dumbledore steeped his fingers in expectation, studying the entity who sat across from him with its legs crossed neatly in its chair. Slowly, he slid a list along the top of his desk until it rested right before his guest, holding its bored gaze unflinchingly.

A pause.

"I need you to transcribe these books for the Hogwarts library."

Golden, molten eyes gave the list a cursory glance before focusing sharply on the wizard. A short silence, like those burning irises were gauging him, and then the boy shook his head.

"These books don't exist anywhere anymore, old man," he stated evenly.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I'm not stupid."

"No, you aren't," admitted the boy with a shit-eating grin on his lips. Albus remembered that lopsided, incisive smile quite well, but never before had it looked as... _weary_ as it happened to look today. _Odd_. The boy looked down at his hands as he continued. "I should remind you that I'm not stupid either," he stated softly, clearly enunciating each word. "Spare me the rhetoric, Albus. This is more than just books—I know it is."

The wizard frowned. His hand made for his wand.

(If he was to do this the hard way, then so be it.)

He opened his mouth to speak, and the boy's eyes popped up to him again. The startlingly bright gold irises, shrunken almost imperceptibly into smaller, more concentrated full-moon orbs, nearly made him stumble, and a crushing pressure took hold on his forehead. He quashed his panic as this invading presence phased past his mental defenses with infuriating ease, and began poking and prodding lazily at his thoughts.

" _No._ Stop that, Edward."

"I'm not a dog," the boy huffed, mildly annoyed. However, despite his words, the presence backed off slightly, still there, still threatening, just not as...bold.

"I seem to recall you saying that you hated doing that," the wizard stated after a moment's respite, readjusting his half-moon glasses.

The boy laughed— _genuinely_ , before giving him a _what can you do about it_ shrug. "True." The pressure ceased completely.

Dumbledore's face pulled into a tentatively amused smile. "Then why try it now?"

"Because _I_ seem to recall _you_ being a _very_ proficient liar, old man," Edward said. "And I also remember that you're a very skilled Legilimens. I just did _my_ thing before you could do yours." A pointed look at the hand Albus had been reaching for his wand with, just before the boy's mental assault.

The smile evened out at that statement. A part of Dumbledore wanted to point out that it was different, because at least Legilimency could be _countered_ , but there really wasn't a point.

(Besides, Edward had always been, still was, and would likely always be, a shoddy Occlumens).

"Well, Albus? Equivalent Exchange: I won't use my brain tricks anymore if you don't use yours," the boy offered, before considering something. He hastily tacked on, "Oh yeah, and _don't lie_. No lies, from either of us, that is."

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands upon his desk, and considered his options. Purely due to his nature, Edward took none too kindly to lying. Lying was too uncertain, unfileable, unknowable. It also happened to be a very big part of Dumbledore's battle plan. But if this was what it took...

"A deal well made then," he stated carefully, keeping his gaze even as he met the boy's eyes once again. "You speak the truth; this is more than just books."

The boy leaned back into his chair, giving him a warm, relieved smile, like he was trying to convey _now that wasn't so bad now was it_ through his facial expression alone. "Thank you, Albus." His voice was calmer, more respectful.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts exhaled, sensing the tension in the air dissipate.

"Now that that's out of the way, do you still want me to transcribe those books in _addition_ to keeping an eye on the students and protecting your precious golden boy?"

A look of alarm crossed the headmaster's face, but the boy simply held his hand up in assurance.

"It was an educated guess—a hypothesis, my friend. No fancy tricks."

"You will be the death of me, Edward," the wizard stated, rubbing at his temple. He paused, trying to recall the original question. _Oh, right_. "Yes, the books would be nice. Letting you take those old treasures to the grave would be a shame indeed."

"I have a lot of time before I die," the boy stated, humor laced into his voice. "Unfortunately."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at that little nihilistic twist. Edward just shrugged.

"How long is this little surveillance contract active?"

The wizard considered. "Two years."

"Huh." Edward scratched his temple, and mused, "That's not too bad, I guess."

"So you've accepted?"

The golden-eyed boy rested his cheek in his hands, his mouth in a neutral line.

"Depends. What're you using in exchange for my help?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. He had expected this, of course. It was another facet of Edward's nature: that golden principle that he had mentioned earlier—Equivalent Exchange. Albus blinked, nonplussed, and, with equal neutrality, slid a pass over to him. The boy glanced down at it for the briefest of moments, and then released a harsh bark of laughter.

"Albus, what makes you think I didn't already peruse the restricted library section when I was here the last time?"

"You underestimate me, Edward," chided the headmaster, tone confident. "Look on the back."

The boy turned the pass over, revealing a slip of paper with assorted candy names. A minute passed in silence. His brow furrowed. Another minute.

He looked up. "What the bloody hell is a 'Fizzing Whizbee?'"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "A pair of words that gargoyles like quite a lot," he stated cryptically. "I would know. I have a stone gargoyle guarding my office as we speak, and it quite likes hearing them:"

Edward looked momentarily lost, but then his brilliant golden eyes widened, and his lips pulled into a large grin as he waved his arms at the great oak shelves around them. His elation left him wordless, like a child pointing insistently at a new toy.

"You mean—"

"Yes, Edward, every book in here." Albus didn't miss a beat.

A pause—the boy was thinking. Hesitantly, he gestured to a particular case, filled with worn leather volumes, one-of-a-kind, written by one of Dumbledore's closest friends. The wizard blinked owlishly and smiled.

"Even the journals."

The boy's grin widened as he took the pass and tucked it away in his vest, into a pocket somewhere near his heart, and a disbelieving laugh echoed around the office as he rebuttoned his coat.

"Well, Albus, in this, as in many things, you've proven how persuasive you can be, even _without_ your Legilimency trick." he complimented, and relaxed back into his chair. "You've got yourself a _deal!_ "

* * *

Nobody uttered a word as the Great Hall's doors creaked open, nearly ten minutes into the sorting ceremony. Conversation puttered to a halt, and even the hat seemed to trail off at the pair that appeared against the rain, interrupting its rather good-natured bashing of some poor soon-to-be-Ravenclaw first year. A vein of lightning darted quick against the inky black, flashing two elongated shadows along the floor. The hinges creaked again.

It was Hagrid, having the good sense to shut the door behind him, and a hooded...boy who was accompanying him that, despite being soaked to the bone, seemed to stand with a certain unabashed dignity. Harry looked up at the stranger from his seat at the Gryffindor table, and cringed as almost everybody else in the hall did so as well.

Simultaneously.

Ron leaned over, narrowing his eyes at the stranger's almost comically confident air.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "No idea." The two glanced immediately to Hermione, who sat with her chin resting on her hands as she studied the boy.

"He's just standing there, staring off into space," Hermione stated, curious.

Ron snickered. "Nervous. Probably a first year, eh?"

Harry snorted. If the boy was nervous, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, he barely even reacted when Hagrid finished with the massive front door and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hogwart's gamekeeper looked up at Dumbledore, a look of apology and bewilderment gracing the rough curve of his lips.

"Sorry abou' the in'erruption, sir. Somethin's got the creatures o' the lake in a right fit." He gestured vaguely at the figure standing to his right. "Kept dragging the transfer student in, and they held on _tight_. Jus' had to bring 'im around in the end."

Muttering permeated the crowd at that statement, mainly whispers of _'transfer student'_ and _"wot"_ from some of the older students. The subject of all this attention simply stood there, dripping a mixture of rain and lake water onto the floor from the ends of his hooded robes. Now that Harry had the chance to study him, he noticed the small tears and scuff marks marring the cloth of the boy's robes. _What_ exactly happened?

Dumbledore began to speak, likely to introduce the new arrival, but Hermione whispered under him.

"That's odd," she mused. "Why would the animals in the lake harass a student? They rarely ever make contact with people, and none of them are in any way malevolent if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, remember how Dennis said he fell in?" Ron paused, as if thinking. "Didn't he say the giant squid thing pushed him back on? Why would it save one kid and pull another one in?"

Harry frowned. "It's kind of suspicious, don't you think?" he questioned slowly, as if doubting himself. His two friends looked at him. "The lake animals freaking out like that? Aren't they, y'know, supposedly protecting us?" He paused. "Maybe the new transfer student is...I dunno," another pause; he knew this was highly irrational, "a danger to us, or something."

Hermione blinked. "Maybe I wouldn't go that far, Harry. It's definitely suspicious, but we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"You're just paranoid, mate," Ron added jokingly, but there was a slight hint of agreement in his voice. Who could blame the two of them? Tensions were still high from a certain Death Eater attack on a certain Quidditch tournament that happened to be a big deal.

The black-haired Gryffindor grimaced at that particular memory as the other students kept throwing curious looks behind them at Hagrid and the kid. Even a few of the professors looked puzzled, and Dumbledore apparently agreed with the oddity of the situation, for he raised a single thinning eyebrow above his twinkling eyes as he finished his short introduction. Harry had been paying barely enough attention to catch the words " _fourth year"_ and _"Germany."_

"...for now, I'd strongly advise against morning walks around the lake," the headmaster quipped lightly, and chuckles echoed around the student body.

Hagrid nodded. The transfer leaned in and whispered something up to the tall man (for the boy was just a little short, and not even Ron could reach Hagrid's ear if he stood on his toes). "Oh yeah, jus' go sit wi' the firs' years fer now, Ed."

The boy, "Ed," nodded and walked towards the group of first years throwing him curious glances. A strange fourth year transfer from Germany; yeah, Harry would've been apprehensive if "Ed" had shown up in his first year (then again, he'd been apprehensive of a great _many_ things in his first year). It didn't help that now everyone could hear the boy's steps were uneven, one considerably lighter than the other, and his gait was a defined limp. It tapped out a steady rhythm on the floor, like the beating of a heart.

 _Strange_.

Harry quashed his curiosity as Ed disappeared among the first year students, and the hat, looking slightly displeased with the intrusion, continued its sorting of the _very_ confused child beneath it.

"... _RAVENCLAW!"_

The Ravenclaw table burst into applause as the new member took an empty seat near some friendly-looking second years. Professor McGonagall glanced down at her list and called up the next student. The sorting hat did a little wiggle to settle itself before its rim opened wide once more.

" _...GRYFFINDOR!"_

Harry cheered for the first year girl who scurried toward their table and stole the nearest seat, near the end, and the next name was called.

* * *

 _"...HUFFLEPUFF!"_

 _"...RAVENCLAW!"_

 _"...SLYTHERIN!"_

The transfigurations instructor peered down at her list, adjusting her hat. " _Heiderich, Edward_ ," she enunciated clearly, and looked up, along with the rest of the student body. The fourth year transfer stood and walked his rhythmic heartbeat limp up to the hat—Was it just him, or did the boy's robe's look inexplicably dry?—where McGonagall stopped him. "Hoods off, young man."

The transfer paused and sighed as he pushed the hood down and shook out his hair. His blonde, very long, very strangely-well-cared-for hair that was in a neat ponytail. Harry heard Ron snicker beside him.

"Looks like a bloody girl when he's turned around, Dun'he?"

Harry was about to agree, but the Hermione rolled her eyes at them and shot him a ' _really?'_ sort of look. That and the soft, wistful " _oh"_ s he heard from a few of the female students around him kept him quiet and watching.

The boy put the hat on, and it sunk down over his face before yelping, yes, _yelping_ , "O-oh dear! How am I supposed to sift through all of _this_?" Then, quieter, "I haven't seen a mind this extensive since...since perhaps Rowena herself!" Its audience began to chatter. The hat rarely spoke aloud, and with such a wild claim at that! The grim line of the boy's mouth gave off a displeased aura of _please shut the bloody hell up, you moth-eaten second-hand rag_ , and the sorting hat abruptly silenced itself. Evidently, he wasn't very fond of such...public melodramatic hyperbole.

The hat took its sweet time, sitting stubbornly over the boy's eyes and wiggling every now and again as if incredibly uncomfortable. The transfer student's face pulled into a noticeable scowl, frustrated. Were they... _conversing?_ Harry thought back on his own sorting, when the hat had given him his choice. Was that happening here as well?

He didn't know for sure, so he watched intently as _Edward Heiderich_ 's expression morphed from frustration to neutrality, to something that resembled a grin. The Ravenclaw table was visibly preening. That one comment about Rowena Ravenclaw nearly guaranteed that this boy, this "extensively" intelligent fourth year transfer was going into their house. Breaths were held as the hat began to shout something, but its voice froze.

It pretended to cough, and began again, already halfway off Edward's head before the word finally rang throughout the hall.

" _SLYTHERIN!"_

Harry frowned. Ron scowled beside him, and Hermione looked troubled, like she didn't know what to feel in regards to this development. The Ravenclaw table noticeably deflated, and a few Ravenclaws shouted indignantly at the ruling, but the Slytherin table was louder with its cheers. Its _very_ smug cheers. Gryffindor groaned audibly.

Ron poked Hermione. "You've got competition."

The prodigy, surprisingly, looked thoroughly satisfied by that challenge. She sat and studied the transfer as he walked his special walk towards the table decorated green and silver, sizing him up. Harry glanced away briefly and noticed McGonagall had a defined frown on her face.

 _She must be worried,_ he reasoned. _If the sorting hat really meant what it said, then extensive knowledge and Slytherin ambition could be dangerous. It would be_ very _bad if the transfer student becomes a Death Eater._ Another thought came to mind, and he grimaced at it. _Maybe he already is_.

Hermione seemed to have noticed the elderly professor's distress as well, and she caught onto Harry's vein of logic quickly. After a second, she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at Dumbledore. He glanced up.

The headmaster was smiling, as if completely pleased with that outcome.

"Well," Ron stated, nonchalantly tearing the two from their parallel trains of thought. "He may be a Slytherin, but at least he isn't sucking up to Malfoy." They all looked. In fact, the transfer had chosen a seat reasonably far from Malfoy and his little clique, even though it was clear that was where the "love" was. Harry glanced back at the head table just in time to see Dumbledore quietly discussing something with Snape as Professor McGonagall continued the ceremony, the previous uncertainty leaving her expression completely.

She cleared her throat to regain the students' attention.

" _Jenkins_ , _Matthias..."_

And the sorting ceremony continued, but Harry paid little attention to it. Edward Heiderich was in his year, and so far first impressions left him suspicious. The boy pulled his hood back on as he slumped into his seat and Harry had to wonder why. Nobody else in the hall, not even the other Slytherins, wore their hood up; it was just plain disrespectful. He vaguely remembered Dudley wearing a dark hoodie when he went out with his gang, as if the hood made him any less conspicuous. He shivered. It also reminded him, vaguely, of Death Eaters.

The raven-haired Gryffindor's thoughts were interrupted as the final first year was sorted and Professor McGonagall grabbed the hat and the stool, carrying them away. Ron sighed in relief.

"About time," the redhead announced grumpily, readying his silverware. The thought of food reminded Harry of exactly how hungry he was, and his stomach gave a distinctly displeased growl at his ignorance.

The hall fell into a respectful quiet as Professor Dumbledore stood and smiled at his students, his arms open in a welcoming gesture. "I have only two words to say to you," he said. " _Tuck in!_ "

Harry grinned at the thought of food, shouting an enthused " _Hear, hear!"_ with Ron, and food popped into existence on the previously empty plates. The three Gryffindors dug in.

The meal was mostly uneventful, except for Hermione getting into a tizzy about the school's use of house-elves, of course, before she flat-out refused to eat another bite. Harry resolved to not get involve in that little spat in the future.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward getting dragged towards Draco's crowd with his hood half on and half off, hair down and looking very "fiddled with" by Pansy, who had firmly latched onto his right arm. Harry thought the boy would be thrilled about being "chosen" to meet Malfoy, but he seemed wholly reluctant in the way he dragged his feet. The raven-haired Gryffindor thought back again on Dudley, on the many nights when he was dragged into something he didn't want to do. Yet he noticed that Edward was at least visibly cordial when speaking to Malfoy.

Draco looked pleased with whatever Heiderich had stated, and a devilish grin crossed his face as he glanced briefly at the Ravenclaw table in triumph, and then at the Gryffindor table (particularly Hermione). The platinum blonde waved Edward's attention towards the red and gold table (likely telling him about "typical Gryffindor incompetence") and the transfer student turned, throwing them a long, cocky smirk that fit perfectly with the Slytherin image. Harry looked back, and Hermione frowned in disapproval at the display. Ron scoffed.

"Shpoke too soon," stated the redhead around his pudding. "He _is_ sucking up to Malfoy."

Harry shook his head. "It's too bad, really."

Ron shrugged, shoveling more pudding into his face as Hermione shot him a baleful look over her own rumbling stomach. "Think his parents were with...y'know," he leaned closer and whispered, "You-Know-Who?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the slightest."

"Well, he's got that typical Slytherin face," the Weasley announced, taking an instant disliking to Ed for his stupid little cocky smile. He put his empty bowl of pudding down with finality. "Smug and sarcastic. Not to mention ugly."

Hermione let out a snort at that and almost opened her mouth to say something before pausing and returning to her _not-talking-to-Ron-ever-again_ default state. _Yep_ , Harry thought. _Don't_ ever get _involved in that_.

He watched as Edward said something and Draco laughed, causing Ron to shake his head in annoyance and turn towards the student sitting to the other side of him (since Hermione was giving him the silent treatment and all). Only Harry caught the boy bringing a hand under the table while coughing, briefly flashing the bird at Draco's leg. He blinked. That _had_ to be his imagination.

" _So!_ " The student body turned and looked at the smiling Headmaster Dumbledore as he stood. Chatter ground to a halt, and only the sound of silverware on plates could be heard as attention focused on the wizened old wizard. "Now that we are all fed and watered," (Hermione glared at the headmaster and gave a huff of indignation. Fed and watered indeed, _by slave labor!_ ) "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

It was usual policy-related things. Filch added George and Fred's newest creations to his list of items that you weren't _supposed_ to have but really that only made people want them _more_. The Forbidden Forest was, of course, _forbidden,_ as per usual. Hogsmeade policy, etc., etc.

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing on, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

" _What?"_

Now _this_ got a rise out of the crowd. Harry knew _he_ was horrified, and a good majority of his year looked utterly and definitely heartbroken. The quidditch teams themselves were _especially_ outraged. The headmaster simply raised a hand at the general unrest of the students, waiting for them to quiet down.

"This," he stated when the Hall had calmed a respectable degree, "is of course due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it _immensely_. I have _great_ pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

The grand double doors of the hall slammed open. _Again_. Harry's gaze immediately snapped back towards the _second intrusion_ that night, and everyone in the hall did so too. Well, except for Dumbledore of course. _He_ just looked slightly amused.

Framed against the rain and lightning stood a man with a long mop of motley salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in dark brown and black hooded leathers. As the rain pounded down onto the floors of the Great Hall, the scraggly figure made its way towards the teachers' table, and this one had a worse limp than Heiderich, so bad that he had to use a mottled staff as a cane. Heavy _clunk_ s rang off the walls with every other step, but they seemed to come from the man's foot itself.

The man paused, as if considering his next action, before turning and limping towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning, and Harry heard Hermione give an audible gasp, for the light had drawn the man's face from the inky darkness.

His face was weathered, much like the leather coat he wore. Scars decorated every inch of his skin. What wasn't scarred seemed to be simply missing—a modern mural to suffering and war—and the tight frown affixed to his lips spoke of a man who had seen his share of violence. But none of that mattered so much, as the dark set in again, and made the main feature of the man's profile ever more obvious.

The intruder's eyes were mismatched to say the least. The right was dark and weary, belonging to a man who had lived this world fighting, as to be expected. However, the left was...different.

It swiveled to and fro, a bright, artificial blue. It was a good two or three times larger than the other, and a strap or mount of some sort crossed the man's forehead, seemingly to hold this wild eye in place. Around it, angry scar tissue puffed unnaturally against the edge of the eye. It never focused on one place for too long, never blinked, and it never moved within reason of the right eye. It fixed on Harry for only a brief second, and he felt shivers crawl up his spine.

The man conversed with the headmaster for a few moments, the conversation indiscernible but undeniably grim. When the man finally sat, he even checked his food, as if it could be poisoned, before taking a bite.

Dumbledore turned to the students once more, a sunny smile on his lips. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Silence. "Professor Moody."

Only two people clapped. Understandably, everyone else (Harry included) was too occupied by the man himself rather than his appointment. The Boy Who Lived finally brought himself to whisper to Ron, " _Moody?"_ He was incredulous. " _Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron said, his voice far away and distracted.

Hermione must've been shocked out of her silent treatment, for she finally spoke to ask, "What happened to him?" She sounded horrified. "What happened to his _face?_ "

"Dunno," replied Ron.

And the entire hall was sitting there staring and muttering as both Moody and his wild eye found a single focus point for the first time since he had entered the hall:

 _Edward_.

Of course.

The transfer student seemed unfazed as he turned and stared right back, and Harry caught the barest flash of gold from the Slytherin's irises. The two odd-eyed males were unwavering, until Moody moved his hand to his waist as if to draw his wand, and then Edward abruptly broke his gaze. The weathered man paused, his good eye flickering blank for a second and his mad eye lolling to the side before returning to its roam, having rather uncharacteristically forgotten exactly what it was he had been trying to do to exactly whom. Moody returned to his meal as if nothing had happened. Heiderich flipped up his hood again.

In sync, the trio's eyes narrowed.

 _Definitely suspicious._ Golden irises, almost reminiscent of last year's charismatic werewolf Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore said, acutely aware that he was being ignored, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century." He paused for dramatic effect. "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

A beat of silence.

"You're _JOKING!_ " Fred Weasley nearly shouted, his voice cracking rather embarrassingly at the zenith of his statement.

 _That_ certainly got everyone's attention. The Hall's uncomfortable silence broke like a dam, and laughter filled the vaulted room. Malfoy looked on in tangible disdain.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore assured, his eyes twinkling and his voice filled with appreciative mirth. "Though now that you mention it..."

The headmaster went off on a small tangent before Professor McGonagall got him back on track, and he explained the requirements and history of the tournament. Harry heard whispers of wonder, of students contemplating the thought of entering and winning fame and fortune. _He_ just wanted a nice, quiet year for a change, but his peers were practically shaking in their seats at the prospects. Until, of course...

"Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older, will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."

There were groans of outrage and disappointment. _Well there goes that_ , he thought, grinning.

* * *

Hermione couldn't help herself. The hat had been oh so very impressed with the German boy, she could feel her competitive streak biting at her mind. She could not, in good conscience, be outsmarted without a fight. Throughout the announcements, throughout the meal, she kept glancing at the Slytherin table, at the confident figure that had abruptly switched between quiet, hooded recluse to smug, sarcastic jackass, and then back again. She wondered which side was truly the one worth competing with.

Before they left the hall, she threw one last look his way.

He looked back.

He didn't smile, didn't snarl, or do anything she expected. He just glanced at her, and then at Harry and Ron, and then at Dumbledore, before an expression of recognition crossed his face underneath the hood. He gave her one last hard look, as if to say _it's not polite to stare_ with his eyes alone, and then Snape grabbed him none too gently by the shoulder, whispering something briefly into his ear before ushering the boy out the Hall, in the opposite direction of the Slytherin dorms.

Hermione blinked in confusion, and then once more in worry.

* * *

 **A/N:** _So it's been a while since I've done...uh...anything in the Pit of Voles, really. I just recently remembered why: the damn document manager keeps destroying my indentations and m-dashes! My beloved m-dashes! So yeah, I went through and redid them manually, which was a pain. Then I remembered that it didn't do indentations, period. Ugh. I might have to commit the_ ultimate _taboo and just do my writing directly in the doc manager._

 _..._

 _..._

 _Actually, you know what? It's not worth it. I'll just suck it up._

 _Chapters will update sporadically, and it might be an "aban" if people don't really care, so yeah. I legitimately have the books open on my lap while writing, so dialogue starts off pretty much the same as J.K. Rowling originally wrote it. Many things are paraphrased, or rephrased to make them more humorous and fast-paced, but that's just my writing style I suppose._

 _Criticism is much appreciated! Although, I_ would _like legitimate solutions to the faults displayed in my amateur writing. "Fix the 'flow'" and "work on pacing" simply do not cut it. Things like, "In paragraph...where so-and-so states...the pacing is off. Please build up the tension more before he/she speaks by doing (this)," now_ that's _criticism **gold**. I would metaphorically _ kiss _you if you gave me criticism like that. :D_

 _Thanks for clicking!_

~Promelius

 ** _Edit 9/29/16: I've found a Beta Reader/Editor who has helped me with improving this chapter_ — _the wise_ _Abigaming. There have been a few changes, some of them quite notable, so for anybody who read this chapter before this date, you could skim through the chapter real quick. Next update? Probably October 3rd. ;)_**


	2. Curiosity

_Neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist belong to me in any way, shape, or form._

* * *

 **Curiosity**

* * *

Morning saw the trio going over their schedules and Ron and Hermione on speaking terms again. Oh yeah, and Hermione was eating ("I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," she had stated with an upturned nose).

A cacophony of flutters caught the Hall's attention, and a Parliament (a particularly large Parliament) of owls descended upon the feasting students. Try as he might, Harry couldn't find Hedwig's trademark snow white plumage amidst the storm. A feeling of unease set in on his chest—maybe his letter hadn't even reached Sirius. He looked around at the other students, and a pang of jealousy gripped him when he saw Draco's usual care package deposited haphazardly on the floor beside him. Being without proper parents, the concept of a care package was inconceivable in Harry's mind, the thought of so carelessly discarding one even more so.

From across the hall, something streaking from the ceiling at great speed caught his attention. To the side of the Slytherin table, Edward the limping enigma was on his back, on the floor, with a golden-backed barn owl buried in his chest like the bird had considered all its choices and opted for the one to dive headlong into the blonde's upper body. The German transfer student was looking very displeased. Hesitantly, the owl shook itself off, leaving its package with its downed recipient and hopped onto Heiderich's leg. It preened, like nothing had happened whatsoever, and flew off with whatever dignity it had preserved.

Edward scratched his neck and looked down at his package, exclaiming a rough four syllable phrase that echoed clearly around the Hall. Harry didn't need to speak German to understand.

* * *

Herbology passed without much excitement, besides some disgust and an incident wherein Seamus had nearly spilled bubotuber pus on his face (oh, the horror). Harry almost felt excited to see Hagrid again, but the odd crates sitting open at his cabin that emitted explosion sounds intermittently gave him second thoughts.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid waved at the three of them, enthusiastic as ever, before stating rather naively, "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this—Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

Ron blinked. "Come again?"

Hagrid gestured to the crates, and the Gryffindor students peered in.

A sharp sound of disgust came from Lavender Brown, who jumped back just in time to avoid a stray spark that had flown at her face. The creatures, Blast-Ended Skrewts, looked so unnatural that Harry concluded they must spend every day of their miserable lives in perpetual pain. They just seemed so _awkward_. Their bodies had no visible front, just a slimy carapace that smelled of rotten seafood. Occasionally, with a sound that was almost _comically_ fart-like, a Skrewt would spout sparks from one end (beginning?) and fly forwards (backwards?) a short distance.

"On'y jus' hatched," Hagrid said, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we _want_ to raise them?" Harry turned at the sound of Draco's voice. Evidently, the Slytherins had finally decided to join them, fashionably late, and Malfoy looked like he would be perfectly fine with leaving fashionably early. The scowl on his face spoke for itself really.

Unconsciously, Harry found himself seeking out that hooded figure among the sea of black and green, and there he was, nestled somewhere inconspicuously in the middle of the group. Edward caught his gaze and blinked, flashing him a toothy grin, before looking away.

 _Huh_.

Hagrid scratched his head, clearly having no immediate answer for the platinum blonde's question. The boy pounced on the opportunity.

"I mean, what do they _do?_ " asked Malfoy. "What is the _point_ of them?"

The man blinked, the barest hint of an exasperated sigh evident in his words as he spoke, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today." His voice picked up, eager to move on. "Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go for—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each."

Seamus muttered something about bubotuber pus, and Harry got the distinct feeling that this wasn't going to go well. It wasn't until he'd taken a handful of liver and peeked back into the box that the feeling solidified, for he couldn't think of a single way that the Skrewts could _eat_. No mouths, no...other orifices could be seen anywhere on the creatures' bodies. Harry looked down at his slimy lump of frog organs. _This is pointless_.

The worst part was the Slytherin house that hadn't budged an inch. They just watched their classmates flounder with something akin to amusement. Harry narrowed his eyes at the nerve. He was pleasantly surprised, however, by the blank look on Heiderich's face—seemingly out of it, but at the very least not in any way mocking.

After having been enthusiastically enlightened on how some of the Skrewts had suckers ("Ter suck blood," Hagrid had happily stated) and stingers, and how _every_ single one of them had the power to singe human hands, the students, even Ron, Harry, and Hermione, backed off from the box.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," he stated, in fluent sarcasm. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

Hermione huffed. "Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," she snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

She looked at the Slytherin triumphantly, and Hagrid shot her an appreciative smile. _He_ of all people knew a thing or two about pet dragons.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And do you happen to _know_ how they're useful, _Granger?"_

The brunette flushed, and turned sheepish. "No, but," her feet shifted, "I'm sure they _are_ , in _some_ way," she insisted.

He scoffed. " _Sure_ they are, _Granger_." Hermione was _definitely_ peeved now. " _Heiderich!_ " The hooded blonde's head shot up, as if waking from a dream. He blinked in acknowledgement. "Do you know anything about these...things?"

"...What things?"

Malfoy scoffed and pointed to the offending container on the floor. "You heard me." The shorter blonde's eyes narrowed at the naked aggression in Draco's statement, but looked that way anyways. "What do you know about _Blast-Ended Skrewts_ _?"_

"Blast-Ended...?" Edward tapped his chin, thinking, annoyance forgotten. He walked to the box and regarded one of the crab-like creatures apprehensively. "Don't think I've ever seen one of these ugly bastards before." He frowned. "In fact, as far as I can tell, they shouldn't even exist," he claimed, rather abruptly in Harry's humble opinion. Hagrid huffed, highly scandalized, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at the boy.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questioned.

"I guess I could show you." The Slytherin hesitantly reached into the box with one gloved hand, but drew it back as a stinger flew at his fingers. After recollecting himself, he reached back in and pulled out a specimen by the tip of its longest stinger. The thing writhed in his hands, its other end struggling to reach all the way up and give the boy a nasty surprise, but gravity did its job well enough to keep his knuckles nice and unstung.

Hagrid looked stunned. "Ed!" He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Er...shoot. Uh... _Heiderich_ —Heiderich!" Harry caught that. Everyone did.

It was strange how he referred to Edward so familiarly, even at the opening ceremony, when supposedly the boy had just transferred all the way from a foreign country. As far as he knew, Ron, Hermione, and himself were the only students that had the pleasure of the first name treatment from Hagrid.

The large man ran a hand through his messy hair but recovered quickly. "I think yeh'll wan' ter put the Skrewt down now."

Edward looked up, and then promptly ignored the teacher as he grabbed the other stinger of the creature with his other hand, rendering it basically harmless. He brought his catch to Hermione and, to her credit, she didn't back away. _Good thing he's wearing gloves_ , Harry thought. Who would want to touch the slimy Skrewts without them?

"Look," said Heiderich, nodding at the belly of the thing. Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. She looked. "This one's supposed to be male, right?"

The brunette nodded, tentatively leaning a bit closer.

Harry watched as Edward uncurled one finger from holding the longest stinger to point out an area near one end. "That means it has no suckers. What else is missing?"

Hermione blinked, as if it were obvious. "A mouth?" She voiced the thing that every Gryffindor had noticed (for most of the Slytherins refused to even look at the things) but hadn't wanted to mention. "It's missing a mouth," she restated enthusiastically, for the questions were reminiscent of the classroom environment she so much enjoyed.

The boy raised an eyebrow in amusement at her sudden eagerness. "Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," he joked drily, and the Slytherin house snickered. All except for Draco, of course, who simply looked on in disapproval. "So it's missing a mouth, and it also can't suck blood."

"Huh..." The girl prodigy raised an eyebrow, ignoring the other Slytherin students. "What're you getting at?"

"I'm trying to point out that this species' males don't have any way to feed, meaning they're destined to very quickly _die._ And they hatch from eggs according to the Professor," Hagrid's disapproval lessened at that, for somebody _but_ Hermione had been listening to him for once, "so supposedly they should mate and _then_ immediately die."

There, the boy paused and muttered something like ' _fig wasps'_ before further elaborating, "But they don't seem to have reproductive organs, not behind any segment of the carapace or beside any of their legs, which is a _fatal_ flaw. This species cannot reproduce." He delivered that last statement like a verdict after his very boring showcase of intelligence. Harry felt lectured, and he could tell Ron was getting tired of it as well.

Heiderich dropped one end of the creature and let it dangle, flailing, prompting Hermione to take a hasty step back."Thus, an animal such as this could not possibly occur in the wild," concluded the hooded boy. Hagrid's expression fell once again in worry.

Hermione's brow was furrowed, clearly bewildered, but there was a hint of grudging respect in her voice when she spoke: "...How'd you figure all that out with just a glance?"

Edward shrugged as best he could without dropping the Skrewt. "I saw one wriggling around on its back," he stated, a rather smug tone entering his voice as he continued, "and the rest was just an educated guess. The creature's traits simply didn't make sense, don't you agree, Miss...uh..." He glanced back at his housemates. Harry could see them softly chanting something—he couldn't tell what. A beat of silence."...Miss Mudblood?"

Harry watched as his friend, who had previously been fascinated by Heiderich's detailed explanation, immediately scowled in displeasure, ears reddening, and stormed off towards the edge of the cabin. The blonde straightened up, having the gall to look genuinely confused.

"What?" Edward asked, his usually confident demeanor slipping ever-so-slightly. Draco smirked at Hermione's retreating figure, and a good number of Slytherin students were laughing. "What's _her_ problem? I thought we were having a discussion!"

Ron looked just about ready to pop the hooded blonde a hard one in the jaw, but Harry held him back. Hagrid would deal with this, he knew he would.

The gigantic man put a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Edward Heiderich," he stated grimly, eyes disappointed. "Five points from Slytherin fer calling another student names."

The boy frowned. "But sir—"

"Put the Skrewt down fer now, Heiderich," Hagrid ordered with a surprising amount of authority. "An' go t' the library, read a book er somethin'. I'm sure yeh'll figure it out." The man paused, considering something. "Second thought, jus' come an' meet me af'er class."

Despite the Slytherin's wholly dissatisfied expression and the many aborted attempts he made to protest, he eventually made towards the container of Skrewts and dropped his specimen in. The class watched as the boy eyed his ruined white gloves in distaste before tearing them off and immediately shoving his right hand into his robe pocket.

After Edward had slunk away from all the attention, Hagrid turned to the rest of the class. "Well? What're yeh waitin' fer? Le's get back to it!"

Ron elbowed Harry. "Not that I'm complaining," the redhead whispered, "but why's Hagrid picking on Heiderich so much? Malfoy calls 'Mione a mudblood all the time and doesn't get a bloody thing done to him!"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. He considered something. Slowly, he voiced his question."Hey, did you notice how Hagrid called him 'Ed?'"

Ron snorted. "Yeah. I mean, 'Ed' is easier to say than 'Heiderich.' Why wouldn't he?"

"It's just strange, alright?" Harry insisted with a frown, very aware that he sounded like he was making something out of nothing. He sighed. "Never mind. We should go get Hermione after class, and I say we all stick around after, since we have lunch next, and see how Hagrid deals with Edward."

"Why?" Harry gave the redhead an incredulous look. "I mean, don't get me wrong, mate, _I'm_ fine with it, but I thought you said you didn't want any trouble this year."

"We wouldn't get into much trouble if we were caught," he explained. "Besides, I'm curious."

Ron shrugged. "At the very least, we'll hear him getting chewed out for calling Hermione a mudblood," he said. "I'm in."

* * *

They found the girl sitting at the base of a tree right after class ended, reading through a large, mottled book she had apparently acquired from Hagrid. She casually flipped a page as they drew near, tapping a finger to the corner of the worn parchment in concentration. "Not a mention of Blast-Ended Skrewts in here," she announced without even looking up. "Harry, Ron, have you ever heard of them before?"

Harry shook his head. "Never," he answered honestly.

"Me neither," Ron added.

She began to nibble on her lower lip, finding neither answer satisfactory. She carefully shut the book and got up. "They have to be recorded somewhere else, then," resolved Hermione. She paused while slipping Hagrid's book into her bag, a thought having evidently occurred to her. "Likely by a different name as well."

Ron shrugged. "Why's it matter to you so much?"

Hermione puffed out her cheeks and glared at him. "That smug Slytherin caught me off my guard with an _actual_ intellectual conversation," she stated. "I thought I'd found a respectable equal for a second there. But no, he set me up just to embarrass me—all for a few brownie points with _Draco_ and his _cronies_. Did you _see_ how they were egging him on, how he looked back just to get their attention?" At this point, her eyes were filled with a vengeful zeal. "I am _not_ going to let him show me up like that!"

A pause, as that sunk in.

"...How's this relate to the Skrewts again?" questioned Ron.

She actually grinned. "Because, evidently, _he_ doesn't know everything about them." A quick pat on her bookbag. "And _I_ soon will. After I eat lunch and go to the library, of course." She began to make her way to the Great Hall.

"Hey, wait!" Harry called out, and she turned to look.

"What?"

"We're sticking around to see how Hagrid's gonna deal with him. Do you wanna join us?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

Harry sighed as he realized—she hadn't been there. "Heiderich," he explained. "Hagrid's gonna have a long talk with him about calling you a mudblood. We're planning on watching."

"Oh." She considered it for a moment, but shrugged. "Tell me how it goes. I have a _lot_ more than just Skrewts to research during lunch." And she sped off.

Harry watched her figure hurry towards the great hall, and Ron laughed.

"We should've just let her be," the redhead concluded. "We've probably already missed something interesting."

Harry frowned. "At least she isn't that upset." His friend nodded.

"Hey," prompted Ron. "You have the cloak, right?"

A grin. "Of course."

* * *

When they got to the open window, the boys realized they had probably missed nothing, for the Care of Magical Creatures teacher and his wayward student were quietly and awkwardly sipping at tea. Harry felt a thrill of relief as he peeked over the sill, careful to keep the cloak between himself and the cabin. Ron grumbled something beside him about how _hard_ it was to balance on a pile of wood _quietly_. He ignored him.

They watched as Hagrid sighed and relaxed back into his seat, placing his tea down onto the table between the two.

"Ed," the giant man began gravely, yet hesitantly. There it was again, that familiarity.

The boy looked up and took another sip of his drink.

"Wha' was all that about?" questioned Hagrid.

An embarrassed silence.

"Um..." Edward coughed. "I was under the impression that 'Mudblood' was her name," he admitted, voice soft, and Harry noticed Hagrid sputter at that statement. "...and, obviously, it isn't?"

" _No!_ No, o' course not!"

"Thank Truth, because that'd be one of the most unfortunate surnames since 'Lynch,' I swear."

Hagrid blinked. "Wha's so wrong with 'Lynch?'"

Edward snorted. "A long history of discrimination, over many time periods and many places."

Harry glanced at Ron, confused. This did _not_ sound like a scolding at _all_.

They carried on in friendly conversation for a solid five minutes or so, and then Hagrid shook his head and waved off a joke Heiderich had made, realizing how off the rails they'd gone.

"Why'd you think 'Mudblood' was 'er name?" he asked, getting back on topic. "Though' yeh were smarter than that, Ed."

The boy shrugged, not exactly the picture of guilt. "How was I supposed to know? I looked at my housemates, and that's what they gave me." A pause. "What's 'Mudblood' even mean?"

To Harry's surprise, Hagrid actually laughed—incredulously, but it was a laugh nonetheless. Edward set his tea down and drummed his fingers against the table, waiting.

"Y'mean," Hagrid managed, barely, "yeh've read all o' yer books o'er the past years," he paused to breathe, " _so_ many books, and yeh're tellin' me that yeh've never, _ever_ , read one on Wizarding terminology?"

"Of course I have!" the boy defended indignantly. "Just mostly for the swear words before I remembered that magic people don't speak a different language from the rest of England!" He stumbled a little, suddenly sheepish. "And then I, uh...stopped."

Hagrid sighed, amused, and then sobered.

"Yeh know what a muggle is, right?

"A non-magical person."

"Right. Well, some wizards an' witches 're born into muggle families," the man explained. "An' the pure-blooded wizards an' witches don' like that. Don' think they're 'real' er somethin'."

He looked up to see if the hooded boy had anything to add.

Silence.

"An' 'Mudblood's the insult pure-bloods use on the muggle-borns," Hagrid finished.

Heiderich shifted in his seat. Softly, "...Oh." Annoyance tinged his tone.

Hagrid raised an eyebrow. "Y'see now?

"Yeah," replied the boy, leaning back into his chair. Briefly, he glanced out the window at the high sun, and Harry caught the angry gleam in his eyes. "I see now."

"Yeh okay there, Ed?"

"...I'm fine. It's just," a pause, "the spirit of this conflict has manifested far too often throughout history, usually in muggle society," Edward muttered. "I'm tired of it. That's all."

A short, uncomfortable lapse in conversation ensued, wherein he let his face slowly fall into his hands.

...And then Hagrid reached across the table and awkwardly patted him on the head. The boy froze.

"What're you doing, Hagrid?" he asked slowly, amusement creeping into his voice.

The man shrugged and grinned. "Cheerin' you up, Ed," he said. "Yer brooding won' do yeh any good. I know what'll do the trick; yeh should go see Hermione. She's one o' the mos' brilliant witches o' her age, an' I think yeh owe 'er an apology."

Heiderich nodded. "So Hermione's her name?"

"Yeah. Yeh weren' given their names?"

"No, just the big one," Edward stated bitterly. "Somebody told me I should 'meet my peers for myself.'" He fixed Hagrid with a meaningful look.

"Oh no, Ed. I'm not helpin' yeh cheat now," the man said with a wide smile.

The boy laughed, shaking his head. "I thought you wouldn't. What's the fun in that?" He leaned over the table. "Oh yeah, did you get the thing?"

Hagrid slid an oddly-shaped container across the table and Edward tentatively opened it. "I 'ad t' come up with the _strangest_ excuse for McGonagall, but 'ere it is."

"I didn't know witches still used concealer," the blonde murmured. _Makeup_ , Harry recalled. Aunt Petunia was fond of it.

"Oh no, she doesn' use it. Asked 'er to transfigure it from a little pile of—," he paused as Edward's gaze fixed on him sharply, "—er...dirt."

The boy sighed and shut the thing. "I'm not sure it'll work with his eye. As far as I can tell, the abilities of that thing are extremely ambiguous, but this has a better shot at working than the enchantments I've been using." He put the container away in his robe pocket. "Tell her thanks. It's the perfect skin tone," he complimented.

"Sure. Still dunno why yeh're suspicious of Professor Moody though."

Edward shrugged. "I just don't like _anybody_ seeing, y'know?"

He stood and made for the door. Harry's eyes widened, and he gestured to Ron that they needed to _go_. _Now_.

"Well we'd best get going. It's the middle of lunch after all," stated Edward. "I'll go ahead. See you later, Hagrid." He paused, and then remembered his manners. "And thanks for the tea and...uh...makeup. I'll return the favor soon, I promise."

"No problem, Ed. Don' be a stranger! Good ol' Hagrid'll always be around fer a chat if you need it," the man said, waving. "Oh, and..." the boy paused and turned. Hagrid was serious now. "Be careful, Ed," he said.

"...Will do."

The hut's door just began to creak open as Harry and Ron made their mad dash towards the Great Hall.

* * *

Hermione was already long gone when they made it to the table and scarfed down all the food they could with their little remaining time. Edward _had_ come in, but the Slytherin had simply grabbed a few pastries and hurried out as quickly as he had entered. The bell rang for afternoon classes.

On the way to Divination, Ron whispered, "They talked like old friends, didn't they?"

Harry nodded. "Really _good_ friends. But Heiderich's so young!" He huffed. "How could they know each other so well if he transferred all the way from Germany?"

Ron shook his head. "I'm starting to think the 'transfer' thing's all just a load of bull."

"But why?" the raven-haired boy asked. "Why would Dumbledore lie about something like that?"

The redhead shrugged. "Maybe it was Dumbledore who was lied _to_ ," he stated. "And Heiderich's trying to hide something from Moody, an _auror_ , with—What was it again? Oh yeah—concealer. Dad's got a tube of it, I think..."

"Maybe he's got a terrible birthmark."

"Mate, _you've_ got a terrible birthmark—er, scar, I guess," Ron replied. "What's so bad that he's gotta hide it?"

Harry frowned. "You're right," he eventually relented. "It's suspicious, but Hagrid obviously _trusts_ Heiderich."

"Hagrid trusts a _lot_ of people, y'know."

That was true. That was _very_ true. And at that point, they were drawing near the classroom, so Harry just mentally steeled himself for the bologna he was nearly certain to receive from the flighty Professor Trelawney. Hermione was right; they should've dropped Divination.

* * *

It was after that very long, very confusing class that the girl prodigy finally rejoined them.

"Lots of homework?" she inquired, falling into step beside them. A wolfish smile spread across her lips. "Professor Vector didn't give _us_ any at all!"

Ron scowled. "Well, bully for Professor Vector," he muttered.

Hermione's smile spread wider, but then she remembered, "How'd that meeting between Hagrid and Heiderich go?"

Harry shook his head. "They were chatting more than anything else really, just like old chums," he told her. "It was...strange."

"So he didn't get scolded?" asked Hermione, lips pursed in thought. "Not at all?"

"No," replied the raven-haired boy. "He didn't know what 'mudblood' meant apparently."

She shrugged. "He told me as much. Maybe they don't use that term in Germany?"

Ron gave her a look and asked, "He what?"

"He found me in the library towards the end of lunch," she answered, "and apologized."

"Huh," Ron huffed. "Hagrid told him he should. Didn't think he'd actually do it."

"Well, he sounded sincere enough, and he didn't have that stupid hood on anymore." She frowned. "I found out that he's apparently rubbish at charms, because he needed my help to float a book off a higher shelf." A smug smile flashed over her expression. "He takes Arithmancy too, but he was very...out of it. He just stared off into space most of the time. Though when Professor Vector called on him, he had the correct answer."

"Wait, go back a little, you say he didn't have his hood on?" asked Harry.

Hermione blinked. "Yeah, he had it down in Arithmancy and at the library also."

"Did you see anything...weird on his face?"

"...What?" The confusion was evident in her face. What an odd question.

"Er..." Harry began again. "We also overheard them talking about something else. Hagrid's helping Heiderich hide something on his skin from Professor Moody with makeup, and we were wondering if you'd seen anything odd on his face, since he didn't have his hood on during class."

"No. Nothing odd," answered Hermione, a hint of annoyance evident in her voice as she continued. "But I swear, if I hear another _word_ about how ' _attractive'_ he is from Mandy Brocklehurst, I will hit her over the head with—well, maybe not a book." Ron snorted in amusement. "She kept elbowing me in the side to talk about one aspect or another of his so-called handsomeness, and I got _quite_ tired of it. And here I thought she was a reasonable, academically-minded Ravenclaw, but—"

"Hermione," Harry interjected, and she halted her tirade. "Any idea what he's trying to hide?"

She tapped her chin and thought, and they reached the bustling entrance hall packed with hungry students. The line was discouragingly long. "Hagrid loves all sorts of creatures," she eventually suggested. "Maybe Heiderich's half something?"

"Maybe he's a werewolf," stated Harry. "Did you see his eyes?"

Silence.

Hermione gave him a look, and he looked back, confused. "Harry," she began. "I hope you realize that eye-color isn't a trait associated with lycanthropy." Then, quieter. "That was just Professor Lupin."

"...Oh."

Another beat of silence.

"Maybe he's half lizard or something," Ron stated, clearly trying to dispel the tension. "And he's got scales all over his face."

Their tentative laughter was swiftly interrupted by the sound of authoritative footsteps down the hall, and a loud call.

 _"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"_

And there they were, Draco Malfoy and his two goons, looking entirely too self-satisfied to mean anything good. He had a rolled up newspaper in one hand, and he wielded it like one would a sword.

Ron bristled. "What?"

The Slytherin unrolled the paper, letting them and the entire hall see the headlines of his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ :

 _ **FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**_.

An incisive smirk unfolded naturally over Malfoy's face as he allowed a moment for the title to sink in, and then he announced, "Your dad's on the paper, Weasley!" He spoke loud, trying to garner as much attention as he could from his peers. "Listen to _this!_ "

Heads turned, and he started to perform.

"'It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_ ," Draco began. "Recently under fire for it poor crowd control at'—Oh, who cares?—blah, blah, blah, oh yes, here it is." He raised an arm theatrically as he read in earnest once again. "'The Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.'"

The paper was lowered as Draco shot Ron a look.

"Imagine them not even getting your father's name right, Weasley," he stated mockingly. "It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?"

All eyes were on Malfoy, just like he wanted. He continued, onto the circumstance, how Mr. Weasley had been called to assist Mr. Moody, how it had been a false alarm, how Arthur had been confronted by muggle police, how he had been forced to _Obliviate_ several officers and bystanders, how much of an embarrassment it had been, on, and on, and on.

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" Draco announced gleefully. "A picture of your parents outside their house—if you can even call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron's figure spoke volumes of his anger, for he was _twitching_ mad, and it made for quite the spectacle. Harry knew that had to be close to the straw.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry shot at the smug Slytherin. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mon, Ron..."

Draco scowled, but then a smile touched his lips. "Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" he asked innocently, before his voice hardened, "So tell me, is Weasley's mother as porky as she is in the picture?"

Ron nearly threw himself at the platinum blonde, eyes wild and nostrils flaring, and if Harry and Hermione hadn't grabbed ahold of his robes, blood would've been shed that afternoon. Malfoy straightened, grinning in satisfaction at the reaction he had elicited. Ron had gone seething silent, and Hermione looked unwilling to speak while Harry, on the other hand, could _not_ let Draco have the final word.

"You know _your_ mother, Malfoy?" He asked slowly; he was making this up as he went, but the sharp frown Draco was giving him emboldened his next statement. "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose?" He flashed the Slytherin a smile. "Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Draco froze, eyes narrowing. His face reddened.

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

Harry scoffed. "Keep your fat mouth shut, then," he stated, turning to leave.

But as he turned, he tripped over something hard on the floor, falling forward onto a surface that felt far too soft to be ground, as a harsh _BANG_ echoed through the hall and a white-hot streak of light soared through the air where he'd previously been. He flailed for his wand as the ground finally solidified beneath him.

A second brilliant _BANG_ cracked through the hall, and a voice boomed from someplace that his disoriented mind could no longer locate.

" _OH NO YOU DON'T LADDIE!_ "

Hermione pulled him back up just in time to see Professor Moody rapidly limping down the stairs, his wand trained on a downed Malfoy who sat dazed on the floor next to a pure black ferret. The ferret looked around in dumb, lazy confusion.

The entire hall fell into silence as Draco finally noticed the creature that woozily stumbled about him.

"...Crabbe?"

Muttering rose from the crowd, for indeed, Crabbe was now missing, and in his place sat a dark-furred creature. Moody grumbled under his breath, but his regular eye eventually found Harry.

"Did he get you?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Something about the threatening way the ex-auror stood filled him with unease. "I dunno, I think I tripped, and he missed."

"...Good," the man growled. "That coward's lucky _he_ tripped too or _he'd_ be the the ferret right about—DON'T LET THAT THING GET AWAY!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Don't—what?"

"The ferret! The big kid!" Moody turned, and shot a stunning spell at the rapidly retreating creature. Crabbe-ferret immediately froze.

Draco, finally scared out of his stupor, shot up to his feet, and began to make a run for it as well.

"I don't think so!" the Professor snarled, and he pointed his wand at Malfoy's back. The boy collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned." Moody limped closer to the fallen student, lips drawn menacingly. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do."

He raised his wand again, some unknown, wordless spell beyond a doubt on his mind, but then a shout rang frantically from across the hall.

" _Professor Moody!"_

Professor McGonagall, having dropped her books on the stairs, came barreling towards the scene, brow furrowed in disbelief. Moody lowered his wand arm to his side.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," the man responded politely as she released the jinx that held Draco to the ground and helped him to his feet.

"Professor, I hope you are _aware_ of the school policy here at Hogwarts!" she snapped, arms folded. "There is _no_ corporal punishment to be had in our halls! Surely, Dumbledore must have told you that."

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," Moody stated evenly. "But if they don't _hurt_ , they don't _learn_ , so I thought I would give him a little—"

"We give _detentions_ , Moody," said McGonagall. "Or speak to the offender's Head of House! Not...whatever this is."

"Well I'll do that, then."

"Good, I hope you—Moody, what is _that?_ "

"What is what?"

"Moody, is that...is _that_ a student too?" Her voice was weak as she pointed her wand at the frozen ferret that had fallen mid-dash on the floor of the hall. "Please tell me it's not—"

"It is," Moody replied nonchalantly.

Movement from the previously motionless student body caught Harry's eye as the two professors argued it out. Edward Heiderich, who had been kneeling on the floor to pick up the spilled contents of his bookbag (which were still on the ground), straightened and brushed the dust off of his green-and-black Slytherin robes. He then promptly gathered his things and left.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Le gasp! Dialogue plagiarism!_

 _Yes, a sizable chunk of dialogue has remained unchanged from the books, just like in Chapter One. I don't want readers needing a copy of HP:TGoF at their side to understand what's going on. Bear with me please. The plot needs time to splinter from canon._

 _As for Fig Wasps, though I'd like people to search them up, I know not everyone will. They're fascinating creatures, I swear. An adult female fig wasp squeezes into the small opening in an adolescent fig bulb (it's a tight fit; she gets her antennae and wings ripped off in the process) and lays some eggs within the soon-to-be-fruit. Male fig wasps hatch first. They don't have eyes, wings, or many things insects usually require to survive. They_ do _, however, have very strong mandibles and a proportionally huge "penis."_

 _Males then bite a hole in the females' eggs, and at this point, you might be thinking, 'Oh, how chivalrous! They're helping their sisters out of their eggs!'_

 _Haha, nope._

 _The hole is only big enough for the male fig wasps to slip their penises in and impregnate their siblings/crib-mates before they even hatch. Whew._

 _So when the females finally hatch, the males bite a hole through the fig that has been their nursery for their sisters to escape through. The lucky guys get to see (Read: Feel, for they have no eyes) the light of day before they immediately die._

 _*Rainbows!*_

 **THE MORE YOU KNOW!**

 _I want to thank my patient and wise sounding board/editor, **she who flies** , and Beta reader/editor, **Abigaming** , for helping to make this chapter available today and not, y'know, never!_

 _Also, thanks for the surprising amount of support you readers have offered! Although I would love to respond to each guest review individually, I would also hate to pad out my word count more than I already have with that little section on fig wasps. I need to get my priorities straight. ;-;_

 _Thanks for clicking!_

~Promelius

 _P.S. Happy FMA day, all! This is going up at around 1:00 am Pacific Time on October 3rd, 2016. Don't forget! Never forget! Neverrrrrrrrrrrrr~!_


	3. Here Nor There

_Neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist belong to me in any way, shape, or form._

* * *

 **Here Nor There**

* * *

Harry found no respite in Potions class, wherein Snape continued his crusade to ruin Gryffindor lives with renewed vigor. No doubt some residual bitterness from having lost the Defense Against the Dark Arts position to ex-auror Moody fueled his efforts; Neville could attest to this—or rather, his gut-covered hands could. All of this after a particularly mundane period of History of Magic, and Harry was past ready for Tuesday to end.

"Heiderich's _really_ rubbish at charms," concluded Hermione, a hint of a winning smile on her lips when she found them for dinner. "He was in the library for lunch again, and I _saw_ him jumble up _Wingardium Leviosa_. His wand just spouted a couple of fizzy red sparks." A pause as the aforementioned smile truly took hold of her face. "Not unlike a Blast-Ended Skrewt now that I think about it."

Ron snorted. "And you did the charm for him?"

She blinked owlishly back.

"Of course I did!"

"You two seem to be catching on bloody well then," he joked bitterly, "considering how badly you'd gotten off and all."

Hermione frowned at his tone of voice. "Well, I only do it out of basic human decency. He's not a blood purist, but he was _insufferable_ during lunch today." She crossed her arms, and the look on her face said that she had a _lot_ to get off her chest about the blonde Slytherin. "He's too sarcastic and pleased with himself."

Ron grinned, and he looked about ready to say something, but Hermione continued before he could get a word in.

"And antisocial," she groused. "Doesn't like talking much, zones out too often, which is fine by me most of the time, but I asked him where to find the book he was reading—by the way, he had this book I've never seen in the library before, and naturally, that made me curious—but he just ignored me! Infuriating brute just kept reading like I hadn't even said anything. And it's not like he didn't hear me."

She paused, and Ron opened his mouth again, but she cut him off after her short breathing intermission.

"I called his name several times, and he never even looked up!" ranted Hermione. There was no stopping her. "Eventually, I got his attention, but he was _nothing_ but rude in his answer. He insulted my intelligence! The nerve!" She huffed. "And I don't quite know _what_ he's doing in the library if he's not reading the books. He flips through far too quickly to _actually_ be reading."

Ron gave her a look, the grin on his lips so quickly gone that it was worth asking if it had ever even been there.

She exhaled, offput, "What?"

"Do you ever go to the library to actually bloody study anymore?" questioned the red-head, with perhaps slight hints of irritation. "Something _other_ than Heiderich, I mean."

* * *

Wednesday Charms and Thursday Transfigurations were uneventful. Harry received his syllabuses and the like, but the (rather disappointing) highlight of the two days was when a student pointed out the faint stench of manure in the classroom (which had been there for the whole day) to Professor McGonagall. The Transfigurations instructor sighed and attempted once more to purge the odor from her room, but alas!—to no avail. Perhaps it showed how even the most skilled witches or wizards could be bested by the smell of poop.

Chuckles tickled across the classroom, but the room fell to silence as the elderly professor saddled them with a piercing, disapproving look.

As the students exited, Harry heard Professor McGonagall muttering under her breath.

"Why did he bring so _much_ of that foul substance," she whispered, "for such a _small_ item?"

 _What?_

"Furthermore, why did he bring anything at all?" The woman gave one long, elegant sweep of her wand, and the smell was banished at last. "I could have just as easily made it out of, say, a quill, but Hagrid just had to try out his new wheelbarrow—of course, of course."

 _...Oh._

Harry almost laughed as he made it out the door. The words would have been funny enough considering he was one of two who had the slightest notion of the context, but Professor McGonagall's perfectly calm delivery clinched it. As it was, he barely scraped by with a big, goofy grin that earned him a concerned look from Hermione.

* * *

Ron sidled up to the prodigal Gryffindor who, after having spent a majority of lunch in the library, joined them again for the last quarter. "Thought you were going to lock yourself in the library?"

She shook her head. "That was the plan, but Madame Pince kicked me out for trying to skip lunch."

"Figures," stated Ron plainly. "I don't know what you're working on so hard."

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

She grabbed a couple of food items and began to eat. They had what? Ten minutes? Harry was almost done and ready to reach their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class early, but he would probably have to wait for Hermione too.

"So," Ron began. "Anything new on Pretty Boy?"

She immediately opened her mouth as if to begin another rant.

"Stop," interjected the redhead. "Don't start that again. I mean information."

Hermione scoffed, but her eyes immediately cast towards the Slytherins, where Heiderich slipped quietly into a seat beside Goyle. "Well, I just saw him fail a transfiguration this time."

"What happened?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sparks, and then nothing."

Ron blinked.

"Wow," he murmured. "He's just... _really_ bad, huh?"

"Well, that's the thing." She paused to take and swallow a bite of food, deliberating. "On the technical side of things, his process was, if such a concept could exist, flawless. Correct wand movements, correct timing..." She frowned with _painfully_ grudging respect. "By all means, it should've been a perfectly functional spell."

Harry looked up from his plate, taking his time to chew and contemplate. He then broke temporarily from his eating-enforced silence to state, smartly, "That's odd."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," reprimanded Hermione in an almost knee-jerk reaction. Harry's mouth clicked shut. "But yes, it _is_ odd."

Ron _hmmmmm_ 'ed. "Charms and transfigurations...Well, I guess he's just rubbish at _magic_ in general then."

"Seems like it," replied the girl. "Although, I've yet to see him try a hex or a curse." The tone of her voice implied, _I can't wait to see him_ fail _a hex or a curse._

"I wonder how he expects to pass the year," mused Harry. "Actually, I wonder how he managed to pass the last _three_ years at that." Hogwarts curriculum required successful spell demonstrations. Heiderich couldn't even do a simple levitation charm.

"Maybe the schools in Germany work differently," Hermione suggested in passing.

Ron shook his head. "That 'German transfer' thing's _got_ to be a load of hogwash, 'Mione."

A blink. "What makes you say that?" she asked. Then, in a grumble, "He definitely _reads_ German just fine."

Harry made sure to swallow his last bite of food this time before butting in. "He and Hagrid are so buddy-buddy," he pointed out. "How could he have come all the way from Germany?"

"Germany's not _that_ far."

"You think Hagrid would travel all the way there just to visit an 'old friend?'"

"Floo powder."

"He has a job."

"Summer."

"Heiderich's _our age_ , 'Mione," Harry stated with finality. "Does Hagrid visit _you_ just to chat over the summer?"

She frowned. "No."

"And," he continued, " _you_ live closer." Some part of him preened at having so quickly out-logicked Hermione. "And anyways, even if he _did_ somehow come from Germany, the fact that he and Hagrid talk like old chums still doesn't make sense with how old he's supposed to be."

Ron nodded. "What he said."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the smug redhead, but raised her arms in relent. "Fine," she admitted. "I suppose so."

"And here I thought you two didn't get along very well," Ron muttered.

"Just because I don't like someone doesn't mean I automatically assume they're hiding some _dark secret_ that has something to do with, of all things, not actually coming from Germany," replied Hermione hotly. She shot the redhead an accusing look, but it died away not long after. "I will admit it's rather..." She considered. "... _strange_ though, now that you mention it."

Harry shrugged. "At least he isn't that much of a _threat_ to anybody if he's as bad at spellcasting as he seems to be," he concluded, leaning back away from his plate. That discovery alone assuaged much of the suspicion he previously felt for Heiderich, which had initially spawned from the boy's insistence on hiding from Moody. _But_ , he thought as Ron and Hermione moved on to some other topic, _I guess wanting to hide something isn't always bad?_

An odd little half-limp, a foggy history, an ignorance towards modern wizarding slurs; Edward didn't add up.

And he supposed that if the blonde couldn't throw anything more harmful than a smug smile their way, a secret that Hagrid both knew of and was actively participating in wasn't worth this much suspicion—

Well perhaps the point on Hagrid was a little less than valid, considering both Fluffy the three-headed dog and Norbert the dragon hatchling had been _legitimate_ threats to the student body. Harry grimaced. He was thinking himself into circles.

Still, despite the cocky attitude and standoffish _I'm-not-paying-attention-to-you-right-now_ zoning out habit, Heiderich was just a stranger. Maybe Harry was being paranoid in his initial suspicions.

He paused mid-thought.

 _Why was I_ looking _for a problem in the first place?_

A groan escaped his lips, and Ron and Hermione looked up from their brief squabble over, once again, elf rights.

"You alright there, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry returned to his meal. It _had_ to be the Death Eater attack on the tournament that had given him that much paranoia, but he was _determined_ to have a conflict-free year this time.

...Unless he was put in danger.

Unless it put others in danger.

Unless Sirius was in danger.

Unless—

He cut that train of thought off where it was.

"Peachy," Harry finally replied.

He would keep an eye on the Slytherin, but resolved it would be out of...curiosity, not suspicion.

And then he remembered how wary Moody had been with the boy during the Feast.

 _Fine,_ he thought, defeated. _Maybe just a little bit of suspicion_.

* * *

As it turned out, they made it to DADA just a few seconds before the bell had rung, barely on time or—according to the other Gryffindor fourth years already eagerly queued up at the door— _l_ _ate_. The spectacle on Monday evidently fueled much anticipation for the ex-auror's debut lesson. Harry himself was _very_ interested in seeing how the eccentric man functioned in a classroom environment, especially considering Hogwarts' long track record of... _intriguing_ Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.

The class pulled out their books and waited with surprising diligence for something to happen. Professor Moody was running slightly late. Harry looked down, at the brand new copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide To Self-Protection_ that sat upon his desk. The room was unnervingly quiet.

Fortunately, that didn't last very long. The heavy clunk of the ex-auror's carved wooden leg was the first and only sign of the man's approach, echoing eerily in the hallway just out the door. The uneven, heartbeat rhythm of his stride was reminiscent of Heiderich's, but at least, and this was a rough figure, _ten_ times worse.

The grizzled ex-auror entered with little ceremony, not even acknowledging his students' presence. It seemed most of his focus was on march-limping to his desk without falling. It was when he finally arrived at the front of the class that he took a look around the room, his crazy eye swiveling from one young face to the next. His posture was still held ramrod straight, his clothes as mottled and his hair as untamed as ever.

Moody's good eye fixed on the book on Neville's desk, and his other on Harry's. The boy felt himself give an involuntary jolt as electric blue irises stared piercingly in his direction.

Murmuring, and silence.

"...You can put those away," stated the professor slowly, sinking into his seat with an oddly cathartic _fwooof._ Harry watched the man look around and meet each curious stare thrown at him (Harry's own included). Eventually, Moody sighed in defeat and clarified, "those books. You won't need them."

Harry caught Ron's eye as they shared a wide grin and put away their texts. That, he believed, put this class off to a _great_ start.

Role was taken, with that unnerving eye darting from each student as they answered Moody's call. The man haphazardly threw the register somewhere on his desk before straightening in his seat.

"Right then," he began. From a fold in his coat, he produced a thin, off-white envelope with a red wax seal and pulled a paper from it. "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class." He showed them the paper, for emphasis, Harry supposed. "Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves," he looked up, "is that right?"

 _Werewolves_.

Harry let out a soft sigh as something vaguely resembling an agreement came from the rest of the class.

Moody nodded, scanning over his letter quickly once again. It was tucked back away into his coat when he spoke.

"But you're behind—very behind—on dealing with curses," he stated. No dissent from his students; it was simply fact. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—"

"What, aren't you staying?"

Moody and, well, the _entire class_ turned towards Ron, who jolted ramrod straight in his chair, eyes meeting the professor's warily. Harry could almost feel the apprehension in Ron's shoulders.

The couple tense seconds slid by like minutes, but then Professor Moody grinned at the redheaded boy. Something about the latticework of scars on the man's face made the gesture look wholly unnatural, like he simply wasn't _built_ to smile. Nevertheless, the gesture itself was enough to release the tightness in Ron's shoulders. The man _was_ human. That was nice to know.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?"

Ron nodded.

The ex-auror expelled a reminiscent breath. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago...Yeah, I'm staying just the one year." He waved a hand dismissively. "Special favor to Dumbledore...One year, and then back to my... _quiet_ retirement."

A bark of dry laughter escaped from the man's throat at that, but then he rose from his seat and gained everyone's attention with a loud, ringing clap of his leathery hands.

"So," he began. "Straight into it. _Curses!_ "

* * *

Hermione was more than just a bit offput with Professor Moody's lesson. The spiders...Well, she wasn't exactly happy about the use of the spiders, but it was nothing compared to the sheer audacity of performing the three Unforgivable Curses right in front of their very eyes. She would be lying if she said she had not been engrossed, even if it had been morbidly so, for _everyone_ in the class had been watching attentively—much in the same way one would watch the makings of a murder.

He'd asked for the names of the curses. She'd been eager to deliver each time.

Neville had been the one to suggest the Cruciatus Curse, and the quiet, flat timber of his voice had unwittingly betrayed the stigma the topic held with him. Hermione had sat there and watched the boy almost break his own fingers in terror as the spider did its twitching tango of agony upon Moody's desk.

But it had been she herself who gave him the name of the final Unforgivable Curse.

She'd seen the far away look in Harry's eyes as the spider stilled.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody had snarled, startling them out of their daze. " _This_ is what you're up against. _That's_ what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all," and he'd paused, to meet their eyes (she recalled distinctly the nervousness she'd felt when his magical eye had focused on her), "you need to practice _constant, never-ceasing vigilance_."

She remembered there had been a silence as the man pulled his chair out from behind his desk to the front of the room and sat down.

"Get out your quills," he'd muttered behind steeped fingers. "Copy that down: _Constant. Never-ceasing. Vigilance._ "

The rest of the period had been spent in quiet, _vigilant_ note-taking.

And then the professor had found them on the way out, and Neville had stayed behind for a chat and tea, and Harry had looked so out of it. Hermione had left them after a scarfed dinner.

And that was how she found herself at the library once more, perhaps to blow off some steam. She tried in vain to cast the memory out of her mind, but it was bothering her more than she liked to admit. What about that class struck her wrong? She honestly couldn't tell. Maybe it was the unapologetic demeanor with which Moody had performed the curses, but the things he'd said to them after class had seemed heartfelt _enough_ , like he'd been doing it with no ill intent.

No. That wasn't what bothered her.

She thought.

It was probably the _ease_ in which the spider had just...ceased.

(And thought.)

 _Ceased_.

She stopped before she could accidentally crinkle a page. With a shiver and resigned sigh, she shut her book. She was hardly reading it in the first place.

In her daze, she'd picked up a book she'd read before in the first place. She moved to put it away.

The library was mostly empty, like she expected it to be. Sometimes, during lunch, there was a sluggish trickle of students in and out, but dinner was another story entirely. There were—what?—two, maybe three other people in here besides Madame Pince, who stared out at them and her treasury of tomes with some sort of protective animosity.

She found the shelf from which she'd obtained her book and, under close scrutiny from the unfriendly neighborhood librarian, slid the volume in exactly where it belonged. Madame Pince watched her carefully line the book up even with its shelf-mates. Hermione stepped away, and the librarian gave her a long look before returning to her work, grudgingly satisfied.

The girl released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding before a spray of red sparks caught her attention. At a table to her right, a blonde-haired boy stood with a wand raised at chest height, a frown affixed obstinately on his lips. _Ah,_ she thought bitterly, _Heiderich._

That was definitely odd. Madame Pince had kicked the Slytherin out of the library last time for attempting his "spell experimentation" on _her_ books, but here he was again, wand at the ready, pointed at a volume of _Hogwarts: A History_ covered in a thick coat of dust.

Given, he had a full set of bookshelves between him and the librarian's desk, but the point still _stood_.

"Trial _two_ of test group six," she barely heard the boy murmur to himself. Was that irritation in his voice? "Floating charm on one point three seven five kilogram tome; _positive_ _control_ wand—flexible willow, eleven inch, dragon heartstring."

 _...What does that...?_

It sounded vaguely like something she'd once read out of a collection of magical study abstracts.

Hermione watched the short blonde close his eyes in concentration, left hand holding his wand out steady. With a breath, he guided the tip through the necessary motions, and, softly, whispered.

" _Wingardium Leviosa._ "

His hand seemed to hang there for a solid second, shaking, as if some unknown, unnamed force was physically exerting itself upon himself and his arm. Hermione found herself holding her breath.

Sluggishly, sleepily, the book rose a centimeter, and then two. It crawled into the air, stopping a good twenty centimeters off the table.

She exhaled.

But Heiderich's shoulders were still tense, his arm falling tentatively to the side. Hermione couldn't help but wonder; what was he waiting for? The book was floating, the charm had evidently worked—

With a piercing, painful _whump_ , the tome returned to the surface of the table, and all color drained out of the Slytherin's face. Something akin to pain stole over his eyes as he dropped his wand unceremoniously on the floor and clamped a hand over his mouth, emitting soft gagging sounds barely audible to where Hermione stood. With shaky hands, he found a chair and sunk into it, tilting his head back. She could _see_ him fighting against nausea, swallowing sporadically, rubbing at his forehead. And boy, he was cursing like a sailor.

Madame Pince had stood from her desk, roused from the commotion, and, hastily, before she even knew what she was thinking, Hermione peeked around the bookcase, grabbing a random tome from a chest-level shelf, and pantomimed the dropping of a book onto someone's foot. The woman shot her a venomous glare.

 _Sorry_ , the girl mouthed back, not really sorry. She ducked back behind the bookcase. _Why_ on _earth_ had she done that for the boy? Was it so necessary for her to exonerate someone she found so wholly insufferable? It was the troll fiasco from first year all over again.

She collected herself and found Heiderich giving her what _would've_ been an incredulous look if his face weren't so drawn from nausea. She put her book prop back and took a seat across the table from the boy, _Hogwarts: A History_ lying crooked between the two.

She paused, considering what would be appropriate to ask out of concern she wasn't aware she possessed for Heiderich. She gave him a few minutes to recover before finally speaking up.

"...Are you alright?"

The boy shuddered, clutching at his right temple. Finally, he mustered the composure to answer.

"Miss...Granger, right?" His voice was still shaky. "You saw that?"

She nodded.

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, looking very not fine. A weak shadow of his Slytherin Smirk flashed across his lips. "I was anticipating this reaction, after all. When I can actually _manage_ magic like this..." He frowned. "Well, it's not pretty."

She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. "You _knew_ it would make you feel terrible," she began slowly, not quite understanding his thought process, "and yet you still tried."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"...Why?"

"Why not?" Some of the color returned to his face as the genuine article of infuriating Slytherin Smirk appeared. With a breath, the smile left as quickly as it had come, and a far away look took over his features. "I've just been testing out my...spellmanship for a very long time. Y'know, to see if things change." He crossed his legs in his chair, making himself comfortable. "It's a long-running experiment."

"And this has happened every time?"

"Yeah," replied the Slytherin. His smirk shifted briefly to a genuine grin. "All of this consequence for levitating a book only..." His eyes blanked, for the shortest of moments. "...twenty-five point three six centimeters, was that? For...five point seven seconds." A shake of his head. "Where's the equivalence in that?"

A pause as that sunk in.

 _Those numbers have to be fake_.

"So," she began carefully. "You have very...weak magic?"

He shrugged. "Something along those lines."

Ugh. What was that supposed to mean?

"But why does it make you feel sick?" she asked.

A pause, and then, again, he smiled.

"You," he stated, "wouldn't be able to keep up with my explanation."

It took a full second for her to finally fully absorb what had just been said.

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

She fumed, fully aware that her face was probably beginning to flush. He'd said something similar just yesterday after she'd finally tapped at the table hard enough to annoy him into acknowledging her question. She'd just been curious about the book he'd been reading—a lovely leather-bound tome with a cover scrawled over with runes and numbers...

* * *

 _"...What language is that in?"_

 _"German." The 'duh' went unvoiced._

" _What's the title in English?"_

 _The boy almost answered, but with a short pause to revise his response, he began again._

 _"Even if it were in English," he stated flatly, "you wouldn't be able to comprehend it."_

 _She blinked. "Was that an insult?"_

 _"No." He was the embodiment of stoicism as he stated, "It was simply truth._ _Now may I please go back to reading?"_

 _Rebuking was futile; he wasn't paying attention anymore._

 _She silently raged as he continued his idle skimming (for there was_ no _way he was reading_ that _quickly)._

* * *

He had _some nerve._

"I'm not _stupid_."

"Surprisingly, very few people _are_ ," he said evenly. "There _is,_ however, a difference between not stupid and intelligent."

"What makes you think I can't—," she stumbled, flustered. "What makes you think you're _that_ much smarter than me?"

"And do _you_ not think the contrary?" questioned the boy, cheekily. "Do _you_ not think that _you_ are, in some way, smarter than _me?_ Do you expect to understand so quickly a concept that I've struggled to experiment on for a good portion of my _life_?" He chuckled. "Is _that_ any better than my supposed assumption?"

"I don't—," she stopped herself and sighed. This was _amusing_ him; that grin of his was nearly crossing the fine line between "smug" and "Cheshire." And fine, if he wanted to drive her away with roundabout, impertinent responses and slip back into his reclusive, antisocial, daydreaming Slytherin ways, who was she to try to stop him? She'd only been, oh, _concerned_ for him after all. "You know what? Never mind."

"Hm?"

At least he was better now. The jerk. Feeling unappreciated, she made to leave. The sound of her chair pushing out prompted him to look up and swear softly under her breath. She stood and turned.

A grumble, and then a frustrated sigh from behind her.

"Wait," the boy called, and she stopped. "I admit that was..." A pause, for him to think. "...less than respectful."

She scoffed.

"Okay, sorry," he conceded, holding his hands up in defeat. "I admit I was being a bit of a prick..." _That_ was something Hermione could agree with."...But as much as I'd _love_ to end this encounter, and indeed perhaps the entirety of our short acquaintance, on the wrong foot," she rolled her eyes, "I've found that that usually doesn't end well."

"I wonder why," she stated flatly.

He sighed once again and gestured at the flimsy chair across him at the table. "Sit back down please."

"Telling somebody what to do," she muttered, "is a poor accompaniment to apology."

Silence.

He bit his lower lip as the heated conversation mercifully lapsed and, after a long pause, stuck out his left hand.

She looked at him, incredulous.

"...What is this?"

"Truce," he requested.

 _What?_

She deliberated. She wasn't particularly bothered by he prospects of a truce—after all, a ceasefire hardly meant surrender—but she wasn't very kindly disposed towards the blonde at the moment either. But what was there to lose? Besides...dignity. She sighed. Awkwardly—for who shook with their left anyways?—she took his hand and gave a firm shake.

A moment's pause, and the two studied each other, challenging their adversary to be the first to break contact.

"Let's make a deal," the boy began slowly when nothing happened, voice low. "I, Edward Heiderich, will strive to be less of an insufferable arsehole," he proclaimed, straight-faced despite his uncouth language, "whether it be on accident," Hermione twitched at that, "or not."

Despite having forgiven it, she still remembered the "Miss Mudblood" incident from Monday.

With those words, he gave her a meaningful, expectant look.

"...What?" she asked, grudgingly taking back her hand. "Am I supposed to say something?"

He snorted. "Yes," answered he. "I stated my side of a deal. It's only equivalent if you state yours."

She frowned. An odd turn of phrase, that. Was the word 'fair' not perfectly formal and sufficient?

"Equivalent," she grumbled. The syllables felt unwieldy on her tongue. "I was under the impression that not being a standoffish ingrate fell under the category of 'basic human decency,'" she slowly lowered herself into her chair again, "not deal-making."

A shrug. "Know what else falls under 'basic human decency?'" he asked, resting his chin on the back of his returned hand. The nauseating, magic-induced illness was apparently gone now. It had subsided awfully _quick_ in her opinion, Heiderich having recovered all of the subtle confidence present in his posture and demeanor. Hermione had never met anyone, excluding perhaps the few goblins she'd seen, who could carry less than five feet of height so impressively.

"What?" She would play along.

Heiderich raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smile there _again_ , before stating simply, "Helping out the magically crippled."

She almost laughed.

"I'd just like you to keep helping me get books off the higher shelves. I..." He hesitated, then continued quieter, looking towards the bookshelf separating them and the library's front desk. "...uh, don't want to interact with that crone of a librarian."

Despite her whole-hearted agreement with that sentiment, she reprimanded, "Don't talk about Madame Pince that way."

"You know it's true."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. There was no denying that. "Still," she insisted.

It was with a particular brand of _I-don't-really-care-but-okay-fine_ that he shrugged. "But anyways," he began, "do we have a deal?"

She considered. It wasn't that much of a bother. She would be doing it anyways, if only to rub it in—err...help.

"Fine," she said, and slowly stuck out a hand. "It's a deal."

She saw him stare at her, hesitating. Looking him straight in the eye, she _dared_ him to make her switch sides.

"Let's shake on it," she prompted.

She'd originally assumed his previous lefty shake was a social dominance tactic (she'd read it in a book—to think it would actually become applicable!); he set the rules, he selected the basis of the interaction in disregard of others' discomfort. He looked considerably more troubled than Hermione'd thought he'd be if that were the case. There was a solid interval of her silently and awkwardly offering her right-handed handshake until slowly, finally, he raised his arm and took it.

She noted the odd, unyielding firmness of his hand underneath the glove, the chill of his fingers, and the jerky movement of his arm as they shook, a stark contrast to the grace and control of his left. Filing that detail away for later, she released her grip and stood to leave.

Heiderich nodded at her, eyes unreadable.

She managed to keep her face straight until she was on the other side of the bookshelf, and then her brow finally furrowed in confusion (and more than just a little frustration). Through the thick tomes and wood, she could hear speech from Heiderich back at the table.

"' _Interact with your housemates, or at least the other students,'_ he said," the boy grumbled softly, voice dropping into mocking baritones as he quoted someone's words. "' _You're not doing any good if you lock yourself up in the library, Edward_. _Talk to people!_ '" He gave a bark of derisive laughter. "Look at how well _that's_ going, Albus! You're going senile if you think I can be _pleasant_ to my _peers_ for _that long._ "

With that line bouncing around her head, she left the library. Dinner was almost over anyways.

* * *

She found Harry and Ron in the common room and, animatedly, recounted her library experience. Surprisingly, it was _not_ a rant. Despite her deepest desire _to_ rant, it was sometime during the walk towards the common that she realized she couldn't afford to _react_ to Heiderich. In many ways, that was his method of winning.

( _Besides_ , she thought, _he_ did _say 'sorry.'_ )

The relay of information effectively distracted her from her own homework (which would be done shortly; she was, after all, a diligent worker) and the two boys from their rather asinine Divinations assignment. The confirmation that Heiderich was, in fact, _capable_ of performing magic didn't alarm them all that much, followed as it was by a description of what she assumed would always happen afterwards.

"He admitted that his magic was just that weak."

"What's the point of being able to do magic if it makes you puke every time you try?" questioned Ron, twiddling his thumbs, because no, he _wouldn't_ (Read: not _couldn't_ ) talk and work simultaneously "The O.W.L.s are going to be his personal hell this year."

"I almost feel bad for him," Harry admitted quietly. At least he was _trying_ to get something done while they spoke.

Hermione shook her head. " _He_ didn't seem too down about his inability to cast spells properly," she said, "after he was done with his nausea, of course."

"Thing is, I dunno why he was acting so bloody superior before then," muttered Ron. "He's practically a squib!"

 _Hear, hear_ , she couldn't help but think.

The conversation died soon after. Some time during their work, Crookshanks crawled into her lap, and she finished before either of her friends.

Their companionable silence was broken with a tapping at the window. Hermione watched Harry's eyes shoot up towards the creature perched impatiently on the sill.

 _Hedwig_.

"Hedwig!" the boy shouted, echoing her thoughts, before hastily dashing to the window and opening it. The snow-white barn owl flew into the room and landed on top of Harry's Divinations assignment, scattering a few papers helter-kelter on the floor. The boy was _elated,_ and she and Ron could hardly call themselves proper friends if they didn't share in his rejoice.

There was a paper attached to the bird's leg.

 _Sirius_.

"What does it say?" she asked breathlessly.

Harry unrolled the parchment carefully, frowning at what he saw (the handwriting, she presumed). With a breath, he began to read:

 _Harry_ —

 _I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore_ — _they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is._

 _I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

 _Sirius_

The look in his eyes was unreadable. Hermione shared a look with Ron.

"...He's flying north?" she whispered to break the silence. A hint of incredulity stole into her tone. "He's coming _back?_ "

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" asked Ron quietly, clearly perplexed. "...Harry—what's up?"

Harry looked furious with himself, his hands gripped so tightly around the letter that it crinkled around the edges. Hermione looked on in concern as he hit himself on the forehead with his fist.

"I...I _shouldn't've told him!_ " Harry growled, startling in the previous quiet of the common room.

Ron blinked. "What are you _on_ about?"

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" exclaimed Harry furiously. "Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me!"

Hermione's eyes widened as the pieces started to fit together. Harry bickered momentarily with Hedwig, causing the owl to fly off indignantly.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry," she began softly. He _couldn't_ beat himself up about this. It was no fault of _his_ , no fault of _anyone's_ really.

He shook his head and brushed her hand off.

"I'm going to bed," he muttered quietly, deflated. "See you in the morning."

And he trudged off, shoulders slumped, disconsolate.

Hermione sighed and brushed off her robes. Ron was sitting there with a look of bemusement (or was that worry?) on his face. As she began to pick up the Hedwig-scattered papers, he spoke.

"...What was that all about?"

She paused, straightening the thin sheaf of parchment she held. Placing it down on the table, she looked Ron in the eye.

"Sirius is coming."

"I gathered that much," stated the redhead shortly. "Why was Harry so upset though?"

She frowned. "He's coming because Harry's scar has apparently been hurting," she elaborated. "And Harry's upset because he thinks since he told Sirius about it—or at least, I assume that's what he did—Sirius will get caught trying to help him."

Silence. Hermione assessed the mess of a work space they had, looking at the book and work Harry had left strewn on the table.

Ron spoke quietly. "He thinks it'll be his fault."

She nodded. "Right," she replied. She closed Harry's book over his work in a way that the papers functioned as a makeshift bookmark, so he would still have his place in the morning. She handed it to Ron. "Take this up to him?"

"...Sure."

Then she turned and shut the window.

* * *

The curtains were closed in the girl's dormitory, but the light of the moon cut through the gaps between the thick falls of fabric. With the day's excitement, she could hardly sleep. Her frustrated mind thought, perhaps inappropriate given the severity of Harry's situation:

 _I completely forgot about S.P.E.W._

...It was late. She would have to work on that some other day.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Hello! So...no, that wasn't a hiatus. This is the regular update schedule. Yep. Um...I would say sorry, but I'm not really, because it takes a lot of conscious effort for me to not write like shit, so the time is sort of justified? I guess? Anyways, nothing major to say, besides a sincere 'thank you' to my two editors, **Abigaming** and **she who flies** for being patient with me and donating what little free time they have, and to you, the readers, for reading. :D_

 _Thanks for clicking!_

~Promelius

 _(P.S. If at all possible, please review under an account if you have a thought-evoking criticism or comment. I'd like to talk to people without shoving more and more words into these end segments that people barely read.) :D_


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